


Matchmaker, She Wrote

by LavernaG



Category: Murder She Wrote
Genre: F/M, Friendship, matchmaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25746100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LavernaG/pseuds/LavernaG
Summary: I'm not a matchmaker by nature. Never have been. But you don't have to be. Everyone in this town can see it plain as day—the two of them were made for each other. One-Shot.
Relationships: Jessica Fletcher/Seth Hazlitt
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	Matchmaker, She Wrote

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy, and please leave me a comment if you do! :)

I'm not a matchmaker by nature. Never have been. But you don't have to be. Everyone in this town can see it plain as day—the two of them were made for each other.

You hardly ever see one without the other, whether it's shopping, fishing, antiquing, dining out or solving a crime. I must say I'm bewildered how they don't see it themselves when everyone else can. It's all in the little things. The way they always walk arm-in-arm. The way that she nudges him when she's teasing him, or the way he makes her laugh all the time.

It's no secret they're best friends. Why, if you can't reach him at his office, the next place anyone would call is her house—and he's always there! She's a dear friend and I would never think anything like this about her, but I wouldn't be surprised if that cunning woman was actually having a delicious affair with him and had managed somehow to fool the whole town into thinking she's nothing less than a saint. However, since I am such a good and considerate friend, I know for a fact that that's just not the sort of woman she is.

In all honesty, I rather envy her. I mean, men get tired of me after a few months of, admittedly, rather intense fun. I don't know how she does it, but she manages to make friends for life without so much as being stolen a kiss from. She has always had a sort of innocent, playful charm hidden away under that sophisticated mask. You don't go around having affairs with women like that. No, you admire them from a certain distance and realize all your little flaws that make you unworthy of her.

Now, he is a different sort of person altogether. He's a kind man, a kind of man that demands respect and gives it in return. Sure, he likes to complain and he's very set in his ways, but if I was in her place, I'd say that was what made him such an ideal friend. She could go traipsing all over the globe and always come back home to a friend who never changed a jot. Gives one a certain feeling of security.

He doesn't like her travelling all the time. Not that he's ever told me that, but I am rather adept at reading people—especially men. He always deflates a little when she mentions having to leave town again, and as far as I've seen he doesn't mind telling her how little he thinks of her trips. I can't blame him—I'd feel the same way. All this work is taking her away from all her friends, and I must admit I miss spending time with her. And of course she gets so tired—not to mention into a heap of trouble each time she leaves town. He's always so worried for her and always in his little ways looking out for her.

I do believe she'd have had some sort of a breakdown by now if he hadn't been there to bring her back to earth from time to time. I've often seen them on the docks—usually she's teasing him about his meagre catch after they've been fishing. And each time I find myself thinking that there probably isn't any place in the world she'd rather be.

But of course that's not true. I've walked in on them cooking a few times, and I can't even begin to tell you what an adorable scene it is. He's wearing one of her frilly aprons, stirring something on the stove. She's bustling about, laying the table and listening to him sharing the latest town gossip. I don't think I've ever seen two people so much at ease around each other, and I wish I had someone like that.

I'd resent it if anyone ever called me an old softie, but I can't deny that my heart melts every time I hear him calling her 'woman'. Every time he does, I think what he really means is 'my dear', 'my darling', 'my angel', but of course he can't say that when they're bickering. None of us can really remember a time when the two of them didn't act like an old married couple.

They have their own special little traditions like any family. When she's in town, they dine together at least once a week. It's customary to see them leaving early in the mornings for a fishing trip. Sometimes they go shopping for antiques, and I found out the hard way that that's a very private thing; they don't invite anyone else. Every time she finishes a new book, they have a small celebration that I'm proud to say other friends, including me, are invited to be a part of. None of these little parties has ever passed without him expressing his opinion on her working too much and her taking the well-meant beating, shaking her head with a chuckle.

Each time she gets back from a trip, they meet for tea, regardless of the time of day it is. Usually he meets her at the airport and on the way back home manages to let out all his frustration with her travelling, so that by the time they're having tea at her house, he's listening with full and keen interest to a recount of her adventures. More often than not these stories include a run-in with the law. She's told me these are some of her favourite moments with him; he appears to be awfully adorable when worried about her well-being.

When I grow old, which won't of course be for a long, long time, I want to have someone as close to rely on. I remember when he first moved into town with his wife and the two women instantly became friends. I didn't know him yet myself but she told me he was the meanest, most stubborn and insufferable man she'd ever met. That is, until about four months later when a local businessman was murdered and she helped the Sheriff find the killer, grudgingly, with his assistance. After that incident, as she had told me, the two of them had started anew and quickly became friends. Soon you couldn't see one couple without the other; the four of them did everything together, and while there was no doubt both married couples were matches made in heaven, over the years a certain pair formed a special friendship. Now that they're both alone I wonder why they won't get together. To me that seems like the natural thing to do.

I asked her about it one day. And I don't think it was the hot tea we were having that made her cheeks blush. She told me I was talking nonsense and that neither of them felt that way about the other. But I could see it in the way she started fiddling with her teacup that I had made her nervous. And if I know anything, it's how a woman in love behaves.

As I mentioned before, I am no matchmaker. But this chance was too good to simply let it pass by. In the auditions for the next Founders' Day play, I pulled out and managed—with great difficulty and extensive personal sacrifice—to talk her into auditioning for and finally playing his lover. That's a start, I've decided. If this doesn't help them see the light, at least it'll show everyone in town that Eve Simpson has taken matters into her own hands and intends to make this match.

_The End_


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